Page 86 of It Happened on a Sunday
It’s his turn to pause. His turn to search my eyes. But all he says is, “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”
“Oh, yeah?” I lift a brow. “And what exactly should I worry about, then?”
“Whatever you want.”
I run my eyes over every part of him that I can see on this damn app. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman like me.”
He grins. “Good thing I’m built for danger.”
“You talk a big game, Sylvester.”
“Only because I’m hoping to back it up in person sometime soon.” His voice is low and shiver-inducing, and I can feel it in all my secret places—even those I’ve barricaded behind walls for protection.
“Definesoon.” The words slip out, aching, hungry.
I can see in his eyes when they hit, can feel it in his sudden intensity as he leans in just a little. Like he could close the distance between us through the screen. “Just as soon as you invite me.”
The need grows inside me, a warm, trembly thing that threatens to break me wide open.
“Consider this your invitation,” I answer. And holy shit. Is thatmyvoice sounding all husky? All needy? I barely recognize it, even before I continue. “I want you here with me. Now.”
It’s a big admission for me, one that has my stomach twisting and my breath weighing heavy in my chest. Fear trembles beneath the bravado, and I start trying to walk it back. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve got the fundraiser in a few hours. And thegame the day after that. And—”
“Hey.” Sly doesn’t move, but his voice—low and smoky and dominant—takes control of my rambling and has me stopping mid-sentence. “I’ve told you I’ve got you, Sloane. I’ve got you.”
“What does that mean?” I hold my breath, almost afraid of the answer.
“It means, if you want me there, I’m there.” He throws back the covers, and I’m treated to a view of Sly in nothing but black Armani boxer shorts until he grabs a pair of jeans and yanks them up his legs.
“What are you doing?” I ask, eyes wide.
“Coming to see you.” Now his voice is warm caramel over steel. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Alarm and anticipation shoot through me in the same breath. “You can’t! Your curfew—”
“Fuck curfew.” He grabs a sweatshirt and pulls it on before making sure the hood stays up to hide as much of his face as possible. “I want to see you, too.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?” I ask. “I don’t want you to get in trouble—”
“I won’t stay long. But I need to hold you. For real this time.” He grabs his wallet and room key, shoving both in his back pocket.
“Sly…” I press a hand to my chest like I can steady the riot inside me. I shouldn’t want this—Ishouldn’twanthim—but I do. It’s terrifying, but it’s also the first thing that’s felt real in a long, long time. And it’s the first thing that’s felt right in even longer.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and for the first time, he looks uncertain. “What?”
“Hurry.”
Relief floods his face as he pulls open the door and strides into the hall. “I’m already on my way.”
Chapter 38
Sloane
Sly’s coming to me.
He’s blowing off curfew and coming to see me. Right now.
I yank my tank top back over my head, then grab a pair of sweats and pull them on before racing to my door.
